


Good Vibes

by Gemi



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Locus the ex villain, M/M, Past Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez, Tags may be added, locus pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: About 80 years ago, countries all over the world began to experiment to create superpowers. They began with prisoners, then moved to soldiers. Now, 80 years later, offsprings from those experiments have begun to show up in the world, and superheroes and supervillains are becoming more and more common.Locus is neither.





	1. Chapter 1

The hallway is empty and dimly lit. There are plenty of shadows to keep inside of; Locus lingers around the corners as he passes through them. He listens to the guards talking, follows the crumbs of clues they unknowingly leave behind them as they bicker. A familiar voice speaks up.

 

“How  _ long _ do you think I’ll stay here?” 

 

Locus moves between shadows and walls and then he stops. 

 

The room is small. Claustrophobic, if Locus wasn’t used to small spaces. There is a table and two chairs, and for a moment he watches. 

He should slide up. He should summon a blade and stab Dylan the Truthseeker. He should use his blade to cut Felix free from his cuffs. He should use his powers to scout ahead as they escape. He should do many things, and he should do it quickly and efficiently. 

 

But there is something in the air. A gut feeling, and Locus listens to it.

 

“For as long as it takes for me to get answers,” Dylan replies. He approves of her sharp, professional way of speaking. It’s a contrast to Felix, who is smiling with his teeth and sitting in an ungraceful, disrespectful way. He trusts in Locus. He is confident. It warms Locus, deep within, but his gut keeps him from moving in to put a stop to the interrogation. Truthseeker isn’t known for using torture; Felix will be fine a moment longer.

 

“Now,” Dylan continues, “answer me. What is your power?” 

 

“My luck,” Felix drawls, “is your bad luck.”

 

Truth, as Dylan stands for. What she is, what her power reveals. Nothing new- Locus knew that. He prepares to take a step out of the shadows, his shape slowly flickering into something more physical---

 

“Just mine? The Chorus Agency would beg to differ.” 

 

“Everyone,” Felix grins, and Locus pulls his foot back from where he was about to step, melts back into the shadows until he  _ is _ the shadows, “You’re not so important. Bad luck spreads everywhere- I’m just here to laugh and watch while it happens. It’s the best entertainment, y’know. Watching you idiots flail about.” 

 

“The ones who captured you say they know you have partners. At least one- does your power affect them?”

 

“Of course it does. As I said,  _ everyone _ . Why be picky? Besides,  _ he _ gets so grateful when I save his ass from it.” 

 

Truthseeker smiles; her domino mask is blue and the lenses are white. It gives her an inhuman quality, the light catching onto the lenses. Makes it seem like her eyes glow from within. Locus normally approves. Now, he stands frozen.

 

“Doesn’t that mean it will be difficult for  _ him _ to get you out of here?” she asks, tilting her head. “How can you rely on him if you know he will fail?”

 

“He would fail, but I would succeed.” Felix grins, sharper than before. His lip is split, dried blood yet to be wiped away. Someone must have lost their temper and punched him during capture. “I would just have to get him  _ back _ .” Felix sends the door a pointed glance and opens his mouth to say more. 

 

Locus stares. Felix doesn’t know he is there; no one knows. Felix continues to speak, but Locus can’t hear. And Locus-

 

Locus leaves. 


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t know where to go.

 

Locus realize that when he finally comes to a stop; he is in an alley. It reeks of piss and garbage, and he is only vaguely aware of a homeless man scrambling away as Locus exits the shadows. He is still in his uniform; the man likely thinks Locus is a villain on a mission. Not a merc. Not a  _ mess _ . 

 

His hands are shaking. He clenches them to make it stop, and Locus glances where the man ran. It’s late. No one is glancing towards him, and if they did it’s too dark for them to see. The streetlights are lit and few are outside. 

 

Locus is safe.

 

He is safe for  _ now _ , but he should return to his apartment. He should empty it out. Felix will understand soon enough that Locus can’t- that Locus won’t-

 

Locus isn’t sure what to do about Felix. His partner’s words roll around inside his head, a tangled mess of confusion. Locus knows he must think about it. Must consider the words, pry them apart until they make sense.

 

He can’t. Not now. 

 

Locus wants to remove his helmet; he thinks fresh air would help.

 

But he is still out in the open, and so far he has avoided letting anyone know his face. Has never revealed his gender- no. Felix told them that Locus was a male.  _ Felix _ said… 

 

He told them that Locus was male, despite the fact that Truthseeker didn’t ask for a gender. He could have denied it. He could have referred to Locus as a  _ them _ . He didn’t.

 

Locus should go home and empty it out. He should look for a new place, under a new name. Instead he sits down in the reeking alley and rests his head against his hands.

 

He needs to think.

 

He can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fingerguns*


	3. Chapter 3

Locus wasn’t born with his powers, but he has grown used to them. Too much, perhaps, but not as much as those who are born with their gifts. Locus still knows how to stay out of sight without using the shadows for help. He knows how to keep an eye out for a quick exit. A café doesn’t have many of them, if one isn’t willing to break the windows. But a café is safer than a restaurant. More windows. Less space. Less people. 

 

It has been a long time since he last walked around in broad daylight. Since he sat down and watched others, knowing they could see him if they bothered to pay attention. He feels naked without his uniform, but it’s safely tucked away in a hidden space in his new apartment. It has been a week. 

 

He can’t think about Felix, and so he doesn’t. Not yet. Not now. 

 

He should.

 

It’s summer; the air is warm, and as he blankly stares out the windows, he can see the air shift and shimmer the way it does when it’s hot enough. He tracks the civilians who bike amongst the traffic. He listens to people arguing. People who laugh or bicker, or speak into their phones. The clicking as students try to finish their homework on their laptops, with the help of too expensive coffee. 

 

It’s almost soothing. He isn’t used to the area- he moved from the other side of the city to here. It’s fancier than he likes, but Felix- but  _ people  _ wouldn’t think to look for him in the more expensive parts of Chorus. The slums are better for blending in, because the people there don’t care who their neighbor is, as long as said neighbor doesn’t bother them.

 

But Locus has no plans to use his uniform. Not yet, not until he knows what to think, what to do about his partner. He has no need to make sure his neighbors won’t run to the cops if they catch a glimpse of him in it.

 

A group of teens walk past his window, giggling and pointing at the billboard, and Locus looks up at it as well. It’s showing a new but famous hero; one from Blood Gulch City. New for Chorus; old news in general. 

 

_ Subroseus _ , he thinks. Agent Donut is what the news likes to use. 

 

It’s an ad for expensive shampoo, but the way the man poses doesn’t bring any attention to his hair. It only highlights how slim and tight his uniform is, and Locus  _ judges _ it. 

His own uniform is practical; heavily armored, painted in matte colors to avoid lights bouncing off against it. His face remains fully hidden at all times. He has pouches for knives and guns. His boots are thick enough to step on rusty nails and not be in any danger.

 

Subroseus has none of that. His uniform is flashy; white and pink, the boots thin, the gloves appearing to be more for aesthetic than practical use. There is the classic domino mask, likely only there to protect his eyes from damage with the traditional shatterproof lenses covering them.

 

Locus can already see every weakness. If Felix were with him, his partner would make fun of it. Would point out every easy spot to stab. Would make sharp, barbed comments that wouldn’t be aimed at Locus. 

 

Locus turns his head away and doesn’t think.

 

He doesn’t think, until he realizes that the café has grown too quiet. Perhaps he isn’t as alert as he thought; he should sleep more, but it’s difficult. Too quiet in the night.   
Locus turns his head back to look around the café and then he stills as he takes in the sight of a  _ robber _ . 

 

No one is moving. He has yet to figure out if they don’t dare or if they  _ can’t _ . But he knows that the robber is too cocky, too exposed. Has to have a power- his hand is outstretched and clenched into a fist, vaguely glowing a golden light. Staring at it makes his thoughts turn fuzzy, his body grow numb. 

 

Locus blinks and looks away from it; uses the time to glance at everyone else, instead, and all of them look blank and unresponsive. Only one other person seems to have been spared and that is the cashier. Even from Locus’ spot, he can see her tremble as she empties the register into a bag.

 

The man is holding a gun is in his other hand. His grip is bad, easy to disarm. Glancing towards  _ that _ hand leaves Locus’ mind untouched. 

 

But Locus isn’t a hero. He can’t bring attention to himself even if he were. It would be easy to take care of the problem, but he can’t. He won’t. Felix can’t find him. Not so soon.

 

Locus stays still. 

 

The man looks his way purely by accident; Locus is busy avoiding that strange, glowing hand. It’s obvious that he is not enthralled by the man’s power. 

 

It should not be surprising when the man take offense for it. 

 

“Hey!” the man snaps and stalks towards him. Locus keeps his eyes away from the clenched fist, but keeps the man in his line of sight. The affected civilians around them turn their heads to follow the man. 

 

It would be  _ easy _ to take the man out. But doing so would mean attention. Perhaps he  _ should _ look at the fist. 

 

Villains are unpredictable. There is no guarantee that he will spare them when he leaves.

 

Locus does not look at the fist.

 

“ _ Look at me, _ ” the man snarls, and the cold muzzle of the gun presses against Locus’ shoulder. He does not look at him. “Look at me!” the man snaps again, the gun digging into him, “Or I’ll shoot you right fucking now!” 

 

Being shot in the shoulder would be bad. Possibly not life threatening. Possibly  _ very _ life threatening. Possibly crippling. 

 

It would be easy to take down the man.

 

The indecision is not something he is used to. Locus has always been able to follow orders; there is something safe in that kind of structure. Listen, follow, obey. If Felix was here, he would likely stab the man himself. Perhaps order Locus to kill him. They would not hide, they would simply defend themselves and disappear into the shadows before any heroes arrived to the scene.

 

But that causes attention. And he  _ can’t _ do that.

 

A light enters his vision, and Locus flinches back before he can stop himself as the fist is shoved against his face. It glows brighter than before; he doesn’t know if it’s because it is so close, or if the man is channeling more power into it. But his mind grows fuzzy within a second, too fast for him to disarm the man. 

 

It’s warm.

 

The sensation is warm; the man speaks, voice sounding like it is coming from underwater. The gun leaves him, and Locus barely notices. 

 

He can’t look away from the light; there is nothing  _ but _ light. He knows he should feel alarmed. He can’t.

  
There are many things he can’t do, lately.

 

The man is ranting. At times, his body blocks the light, and Locus blinks every time it happens, but then the light is there again. Warm and visible, and Locus’ mind sinks back down. A shot is fired. There is a prick of hot-cold sensation at his cheek, but he continues to stare. 

 

Until the sound of breaking glass. It’s a distant thing. It sounds like water sprinkles, harmless and pretty. And then the light is gone for more than a second, and Locus blinks awake. He leaps to his feet without thinking, nearly summons a blade from the shadows to eliminate the threat.

 

He doesn’t; but only just. That, however, is good. 

 

Because he’s not alone anymore; the people all around them still stare at the fist, their eyes distant and blank, but there is a man who is bodyblocking it from Locus’ line of sight. It takes precious seconds for him to recognize the hero. To take in the pink and white colors, and how the suit is far too revealing without showing an inch of skin. He stares dumbly at how the back muscles flex and twist as Agent Donut wrestles the villain. 

 

The villain curses; a shot is fired again, but only the cashier cries out and ducks behind the counter. The civilians remain dull around them. 

 

“Oh, don’t blow your load like that, buddy! You might get someone in the eye!” the hero laughs, and as Locus tries to decide on what to do-  _ run? assist? sit back down?  _ -he watches Agent Donut’s fingertips brush against the gun.

 

The man screams as the gun fall to the floor. The gun doesn’t clatter. It falls with a loud sound, and Locus stares at the small crater it formed, as if it weighed ten times more than should be possible. And then the man is  _ floating _ , only held in place by Agent Donut’s hand on his wrist. The wrist that belongs to the clenched fist, which is not so clenched anymore.

 

Civilians slowly blink awake. Locus stands frozen. 

 

The hero turns his head and grins at him. The smile is blinding and disturbingly perfect, the teeth too white and too straight. Locus can’t see his eyes from behind the domino mask, but he has the distinct feeling that they are sparkling. 

 

“You alright there, hun?” 

 

Locus blinks. He looks away and offers a stiff nod, except apparently the answer is not good enough. Agent Donut walks closer, and Locus has the sudden, intense urge to run. The hero  _ must _ know who he is. Except, of course, that’s not logical. It’s impossible. The urge remains, but it is of no help. It only leaves him frozen-  _ again _ , when will it stop?- and then a gentle hand touches his arm.

 

“You’re hurt,” Agent Donut says, looking at his cheek. Locus reaches up to check, and there is the sticky-wet feeling of blood against his fingertips. The villain- still cursing, still floating above the hero like a strange balloon -must have grazed him with a bullet when he was under the influence.

 

He could have died. 

 

The thought is chilling and disturbing. There is annoyance, too, and Locus is not sure  _ why _ . But the hero before him stares up at him. Waiting for an answer, and Locus clears his throat. It doesn’t help; when he speaks, his voice still comes out as a croak.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Hmm,” Agent Donut says, “Now,  _ I _ don’t think so, but if  _ you _ are sure…  _ but _ , also, I’m sure the lovely lady behind the desk is calling the ambulance, so if you want to get that checked?”

 

Oh.

 

“No,” he snaps and then, “Thank you,” because he is fairly sure that it is the polite thing to do. Agent Donut smiles again, and it’s worse than before. It’s  _ closer _ now, and Locus takes a step back. He bumps into the chair he sat on before all of this happened. 

  
Agent Donut squeezes his arm, once, and lets go. 

 

“Alright, big fella. I still think some nice, tender care would do you real good, but if you insist! Will you be alright as I take care of this bad boy?” 

 

Locus glances up towards the villain; the man’s face is very red. And green. It is an odd combination, nausea and bloodrush fighting for dominance. He wonders if the man will throw up. He is certainly quiet enough, now, considering the curses he screamed before. 

 

“Yes,” he says, and Agent Donut beams. Voices begin to grow louder around them, at last, as people finally wake fully from the daze. Soon, phones will be whipped out to take pictures. As the hero turns around to deal with the crowd, Locus tugs his hood up and carefully sneaks out of the door.  _ Through _ the door, as it appears Agent Donut broke the glass of it to get in faster.

 

Utterly illogical. It would have been simpler to throw it open, or perhaps jump through a window. But for now it serves Locus well as he ducks through it. As he hurriedly walks away from the café and into an alley and there, at last, is able to step through the shadows to put even more distance between himself and the mess behind. 

 

He steps out of the shadows when back home. 

 

The apartment is empty. Bare of all personal things, and cramped. His feet feel heavy as he goes into the bathroom. Cold water against his face doesn’t help; he feels bleary and tired and  _ drained _ , and his heart is beating oddly. Perhaps from the villain’s power. Perhaps from the hero’s strangely bright, perfect smile- was that his power too? -or simply, perhaps, from Locus overusing his powers one too many times.

 

The water turns brown as he washes off the makeup. He stares numbly at his reflection in the mirror, and wonders if Agent Donut would still have smiled so bright, if he had seen the scar that had been hiding under layers of makeup.

 

Likely not. It is, after all, a villain’s scar.

 

Locus dries his face. He dries his hands. He goes back to bed, and falls asleep fully clothed, boots still on his feet and dangling over the edge of the too small bed.

 

The dreams are strange. 

 

But for once they do not wake him up in a cold sweat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH LOOK.. . ..

**Author's Note:**

> yeah these chapters will be VERY short, but I hope you will enjoy yourself anyway. Thank you so much for reading!


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